


Monochromatic Colours

by boyfriendswhoboyfriend



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Death, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:11:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boyfriendswhoboyfriend/pseuds/boyfriendswhoboyfriend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story in which Harry Styles is no more than the burdens he carries, and his life is all a monochromatic colour scheme that Louis once knew how to break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monochromatic Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh, this is my first attempt at writing something and I am actually really proud of it so I hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> I tried writing something else before this and I struggled for days with it but I finally found the inspiration to write this. I thought I wasn't going to make it out alive, tbh. 
> 
> I actually can't reads fics where any of the main characters die, or the mood is sad overall, but somehow I really love to write about it. Weird, eh? (And a bit fucked up too)
> 
> Please leave feedback and thank you for reading! :)

Harry moved his thumb over the picture in the white frame on his bedside table, smiling softly, lips barely moving.  It was morning, probably, the sun sifting through the white curtains in his room, splaying a pattern of sun rays on the wall his only indication.  It seemed like mornings were a blur of sunshine and a lack of sleep all mixed into a mess Harry didn't really want to face.  The sun never shone as bright as it used to, nowadays.

            He reluctantly placed the picture back where it belonged, its place on the table marked by a stain left on the wooden surface.  It had only been 7 months since that picture had become a permanent fixture on his bedside table, greeting him every morning and every night.  _7 months._   Maybe time moved faster when you weren't really paying attention.

            Harry's feet landed softly on the white plush carpet of his flat, toes digging into the soft sea of white as he got out of bed.  His room, a white oasis of expensive furniture and record hits lining the walls, made him feel empty.  He missed the streaks of colour that once used to splatter the walls, hiding behind every piece of furniture, lurking underneath the expensive carpet.  Colour was such a rarity nowadays.

            Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he stood up and made his way across the vast land of his room to the bathroom, a room that was bigger than most apartments in the city.  The heated silver tiles matched the silver walls of the bathroom, creating an atmosphere of cool and sophisticated chic.  Harry looked at the silver sink and wondered when monochromatic colour schemes had become modern.  There was something so haunting about it all.

            Staring in the mirror, Harry could see the bags under his eyes, the dark shadows outlining his hollow cheeks.  The emerald quality to his eyes was gone now, two dimly lit circles of green staring back at him.  His skin was paler than it had always been, a translucent shade that made him appear so weak and vulnerable,  he had nothing to hide behind.  Even his curly locks were tamed, cut short after the incident.

            _He looked like shit._

            None of this was a surprise, of course: he knew what had happened.  The past 7 months had been a blur of time, where Harry's body had slowly deteriorated into the state it was now.  Even _he_ had become a shadow of his former self, a body going through all the motions of the living.

            Nothing was Okay anymore.

\---

            The water washed over Harry's face as he felt its warmth seep through his pores, opening up his body to a pain he didn't want to face.  The water was too hot, his body glistening red in the fluorescent lights, covered in sorrow.  All he wanted to do was to step out of his skin and run away from all his problems, to be free of the burden he carried.  But his mum had pleaded with him, told him that she still needed him, that the _world_ still needed him, that he couldn't leave them with a hole in their hearts.  Part of him wished he didn't care so much, that he could leave this world and never look back, but he stayed all the same.  He could live with a hole in his heart, but others couldn't; he had to be strong for them.

            As he grabbed the towel from the towel rack and dried himself off slowly, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again.  His skin looked better, softer, and his eyes had the smallest of sparkle in them.  He moved his body closer to the mirror, staring at his face intently.  If he could smile, even for a second, he would look almost normal.

            The corners of Harry's mouth struggled to move up, to settle themselves in a place that had been so common, once upon a time.  _He could do this.  How hard was it to smile, really?_

            The smile that appeared was horribly crooked, dimples appearing as ghosts of what they once were.  His lips were cracked open, having not experienced such a wide stance in so long, and his face seemed worse off with such a horribly fake smile.

            But somehow, it was better.  He looked better.  People needed to see him like this, even if he didn't believe it himself. 

            Stepping out of the bathroom with the towel slung low on his hips, Harry walked over to his closet, eyes darting slowly over his clothes.  He picked out a pair of black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, his uniform for the day.  Glancing over at his bed, his stomach clenched.

            His side of the bed was a mess, wrinkled sheets in a pile of disarray, strewn across his bed in a complicated pattern.  The other side of the bed, however, was untouched, perfectly made, like nobody had even laid eyes on it.

            Harry's heart hurt as he tried not to think about it.  _No, I can't do this to myself. No, no, no!  That's my bed, where I sleep.  I sleep on that side because it makes my back feel better, because I can relax because- Not because I once had sunshine draped over me, not because he used to sleep on that side.  No, not because of any of that.  It's a bed much too big for one, is all.  Much too big._

Harry shook his head quickly, willing the thoughts to go away.  His eyes moved away from the bed to look down at the ground, steadying himself with deep breaths, eyes closing in a false peace.

            After minutes of silence, Harry looked up, purposefully avoiding the bed.  He straightened his lanky body, taking one last deep breath before moving on to the kitchen, a couple of steps away from his bedroom.

            Harry's kitchen was gorgeous, maple cabinets lining the wall, stainless steel appliances glinting off his granite countertops.  Harry's kitchen was a haven, a place where Harry had always felt at home.  He loved to cook, to experiment with new flavours and spices, allowing himself to be as adventurous as possible.

            The kitchen was spotless, not a single speck of dust visible on the surface.  It looked like he hadn't used it in months, and that was probably correct.   _7 months since his last home cooked meal. 7 stupid, stupid months._

Harry glanced at his kitchen, a hostile look on his face.  _Spotless.  Just how he always kept it.  But...where were the plates that once cluttered the sink?  The stains underneath the countertops too hidden to be noticed by untrained eyes?  The myriad of socks and shoes that littered the floor, belonging to tiny feet...._

            Harry snapped out of his train of thought, swallowing back tears, trying but failing to push the ball of hurt down his throat.  His throat felt swollen, not allowing enough air to pass through, making it seem like he couldn't breathe properly, like he was going to burst at any moment, let the tears fall free like prisoners escaping from jail.  _He could do this.  He could make it through the morning, make it through without crying, without really thinking about him at all.  He could.  He definitely could._

Pushing the pain aside, Harry made his way over to the coffee maker, limbs feeling weak with the weight of such heavy burdens.  He put the coffee in the coffee filter, filling it with water, trying hard to distract himself with the simple task of making coffee.

            As he waited for the feel of the coffee's warmth to fill his apartment, Harry sat down at his dining room table, the small surface making him feel much too big.

            Yesterday's newspaper was lying on top of the table, Harry having been much too distracted to read it or even throw it away.  He picked it up now, bright headlines jumping off the paper, just enough to numb his mind for a couple of minutes.

            As he scanned the front page, his body froze, a whimper escaping his lips.  His eyes blindly focused on the article at the top right corner, his heart clenching much too painfully.  

            "L-Louis," he whimpered, tears falling as his hand hovered above the picture, lips trembling,  throat closed, mind numb.  The article was about Louis, "Lou, the boy who would live forever in the hearts of many".

            His vision was blurry beyond repair, tears blinding his eyes, sobs escaping his mouth fiercely.  The tears flowed like they hadn't stopped for 7 months, like they had always been a part of Harry.  His sobs were broken, ravaging his body in convulsions, shaking him free of every burden he had been carrying.  His hand gripped the picture of Louis tight, ripping the page, trying to feel the warmth that Louis had once radiated.

            _Louis. Louislouislouis. Louis!  Where are you, my darling?  Where is my sunshine, the ray of light that made life worth living?  Where is my sea of blue that I got lost in, the tanned skin that had always been sweet enough?_

            _I miss you.  I miss the touch of your fingers on my skin, the way your laugh meant more to me than my own sanity, the way you cared too much, making me feel inadequate for a love like yours.  I miss the way you used to leave the kitchen in a disarray of yourself, every sock and shoe littered like you had no care in the world.  I miss your body, sleeping next to mine, radiating warmth and love, making me happy to see the sunshine of a new morning.  Fuck, Louis, I hate mornings.  The sun doesn't shine for me anymore.  It's dull, just like this apartment.  You were my light, the colour in this world.  Dearest sunshine, you don't shine for me anymore._

_I feel like I'm losing you all over again.  I have your picture on my bedside table, and I look at it every chance that I get, but I keep forgetting your features.  I have to remind myself what you looked like!  How fucked up is that!?  I can't even remember you!  I-I... I can't do anything right anymore, Lou.  I need you.  I keep wanting to see your side of the bed unmade, to see the covers draped around your body, to hear you breathe slowly as you sleep.  But I can't.  You're gone forever, and I won't ever get to see you again.  I close my eyes and I can see you, but that image gets more and more faint every day, and I'm forgetting you._

_I'm losing you Louis, and it's only been 7 months._

_7 stupid, stupid months._

 


End file.
